


Hiding Ragnor

by SalazarTipton



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Fake Character Death, Fix-It, Gen, Homophobia, Internalized Acephobia, M/M, mentions of canon camille/magnus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:47:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/SalazarTipton
Summary: Ragnor knows Magnus is coming, so he hatches a plan to fall off Valentine and the Circle's radar for good. Too bad he wasn't prepared for a demon to cause a hitch in his plans to fake his own death.





	Hiding Ragnor

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that participated in this event with us! And thank you to my artist, Mel, and beta Raed, for helping me through the writing process to finally get this idea out of my head and onto ao3. This has been quiet the process, but so rewarding. <3
> 
> [warning, i do not abide by any sort of update/upload schedule. if you can't handle reading a work-in-progress, please wait to read this until it is finished. comments of just "update" or "more" and nothing else hinder my resolve and writing process. i'd rather hear your thoughts--whether excitement, disappointment, etc--than just people yelling that they want more. this work will be finished, in due time. yelling at me to update will only make me not want to work on this piece.]

 

“This baby has been a thorn in my side since before Camille killed him! Back when I had to kidnap the annoying _mundane_ \--” Ragnor smiles to himself and let’s Raphael go on. It’s been years since anything has gotten under his skin so much. Clearly, though he’d never admit it, this Simon means something to him.

 

Ragnor switches his phone to his other hand in order to reach his tea on the side table. Raphael has been going on about Camille and this fledgling for the past ten minutes. Now while he’s always had patience when it comes to him (whereas he wouldn’t give anyone else the time of day), Ragnor has heard enough about Camille to last three eternities. The woman has been trying on him for the past two centuries, and now her causing problems for his dear Raphael is souring his mood. He lets his boyfriend continue on explaining about this Simon boy.

 

“Why did you kidnap him in the first place? I’m sure you thought of another way to get Clarisa Fairchild’s attention for Camille without involving a mundane,” Ragnor points out before sipping at his earl grey.

 

Raphael’s loud sigh nearly makes him laugh and force tea into his lungs by accident. “With how she’s been lately--ignoring the Accords and making her own rules--I needed to stay in her favor long enough to find something solid to hand her over to the Clave.”

 

“And yet instead of handing her over to _nephilim_ , she’s locked up downstairs with them being none the wiser. You already made your move, staked your claim, with the clan’s full support! I don’t see why you’re being so coy now that you have exactly what you wanted, and may I remind you, deserve.”

 

They’ve had this talk time and time again. Raphael is a natural leader. Even when he was first turned and didn’t know which way was up, he never took Magnus’ teachings as fact. He took them into account and learned on his own what worked and what didn’t--thought of his future self once he realized that becoming one of the Night Children didn’t mean his life was over, but that in actuality his life just began anew. It’s taken some time for Ragnor to see him as a strong and able man instead of the fledgling he once was, but now there is no doubt in his mind that Raphael is the best choice to head the New York clan. No vampire Ragnor’s ever met would do them better.

 

“Mi amor, could we talk about something else for now? Tonight has been difficult enough with the baby. What have you been doing since you went into hiding?”

 

“Fine, but don’t think this topic is shelved for all time. I will remember to bring it up,” Ragnor teases him. “I’ve been keeping to myself--enjoying the solitude.”

 

“I never doubted that. You thrive alone,” Raphael says, voice dipping at the end.

 

“No, I thrive best with you, and you alone. Everyone else gets in the way. You know this,” Ragnor says with a small smile. “I’ve gotten back into revising my grimoire. It’s been years and there is much to edit. Can you believe I still hadn’t nixed the portion about the use of rowan wood in terms of sleeping draughts? After having the Book of the White for so long, one would think I’d have edited my own materials.”

 

Raphael laughs airily. One thing he’s never known Ragnor to be is organized, no matter how much he insists he is. Behind him, a fluttering sizzle pops into the air accompanying a flash of light.

 

“Another fire message?” Raphael asks, hearing it as well.

 

Ragnor turns around in his armchair to inspect it. There hovering above his writing desk is a bit of flaming words similar to the other few he’s received in the last few days--all from Magnus. He gets up to read it.

 

“He’s becoming testy,” Ragnor says, reading the scolding and affronted words. As they flicker out, he feels guilt settling into his stomach. “ _Ragnor, It has been days! I know you’ve gotten my past messages. If you don’t respond I’ll have no choice but to come there in person. It’s of the utmost importance.”_

 

“By utmost importance, he means the _Shadowhunter’s_ importance,” Raphael reminds him. “Since you’ve been gone and Pandemonium cleared out, he’s been getting all too friendly with them. That damn Fairchild girl has the entire Shadow World spinning. Who knew one fresh Shadowhunter could cause so many problems.”

 

Ragnor nods along, remembering what Raphael has said about the dear girl Magnus watched grow up. A few times he’d sat with Jocelyn in the kitchen while Magnus performed her memory wipes. While neither warlocks agreed with what she was doing to her daughter, they understood her fear. Magnus had his children--all the downworlders he’d fathered over his centuries. Ragnor never connected with any lost puppies the way he did, aside from maybe Magnus himself. (Though he’ll never say, he feels ever-indebted to Magnus for taking Raphael in.) Jocelyn was a scared mother trying to protect her daughter. Only now are they all seeing the repercussions of her choices.

 

“Does he not remember all he went through for the sake of them? He hasn’t been kind to their kind for good reason since Will passed. Since the Circle and with Valentine’s return...I just wish he would take my advice for once, or at least leave me out of his choices when he ignores my council,” Ragnor says in a long wind caught under him when all the words fizzle out into thin air from where they came. He flops back down into his chair and sighs.

 

“My invitation is still open. Magnus says he’s coming to you for the Shadowhunters. You know they won’t let him come alone. They’ll never trust a warlock on his own. Come here. Stay with me,” Raphael offers, again.

 

While the Du Mort is Raphael’s home, Ragnor’s also felt more at ease on his own. The clan members keep to themselves, but in comparison to his cottage, they both know which will always win out. In his mind, Ragnor can easily envision the frown nearing permanence on his boyfriend’s face. He does miss him…He glances back down to his notes lay open on the coffee table wishing for an option out of this mess. A smirk comes across his lips.

 

“Raphael, I may just take you up on that offer.”

 

“ _Amor_ , what are you thinking this time?”

 

“Valentine won’t stop until I’m dead, yes? Why don’t I give him what he wants? With me dead, he’ll never wake up Jocelyn,” Ragnor ponders, grin stretching out into a laugh.

 

“You’re an idiot,” Raphael says.

 

“Well, too bad you love me, then.”

 

“Remind me why again?”

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

He digs through his notes, flips pages over and tossing them aside in search of a potion recipe he’s sure he just saw the other day. Finally, underneath a bust of Oscar Wilde in the hall he’s found it and goes about gathering the ingredients. Ragnor knows he hasn’t got much time if this is going to work out right. He’s got to be dead by the time they arrive--No, he needs to die after they are here in his home. That’s the only way word will spread. Magnus will forgive him once things have been explained, right? It’s not worse than anything Magnus himself has done to give Ragnor and Catarina heart attacks over the eras together. Oh, right. He should warn Cat somehow…and tell her to inform Magnus after the act itself.

 

He carries an armful of bottles downstairs, setting them on the dining table with his mind elsewhere. There is a risk to this--no guarantee that everything will turn out fine and dandy with a bow on top. The potion could go wrong and he may wind up in a coma beside Jocelyn Fairchild. Ragnor stop measuring out ingredients and runs off to find some paper to send Catarina a fire message. If anything goes wrong, she should know how or else even she may not be able to fix it.

 

The potion comes together in a swirl and flourish of Ragnor’s long sleeves bellowing as he moves them over the pink mist spilling over the teacup he’s poured the mixture into. He snaps and a tea bag plops into the liquid--the perfect disguise. Magnus has never had a taste for his brand of drink and the Shadowhunters won’t look closely at it.

 

Ragnor almost feels bad for how well it’s fallen together when he feels the first ripple near his wards--almost. _Pop! Pop!_ He smirks and takes a long swig from the cup as he turns to face Magnus and a blond Shadowhunter in his salon. His smile falters at the latter.

 

“Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, I see you let yourself in. Didn’t expect you to bring the rubbish with you,” Ragnor greets his with a quick, cheeky glare.

 

“I wouldn’t have if you’d just have answered me _once_ ,” Magnus jeers back. An unamused smirk is ghosting on his lips, though the rest of his demeanor remains cordial--official even. “This is Jace Wayland. Clarissa--”

 

“Ah yes, Miss _Fray_ is on her way. You know how I appreciate my solitude, Bane. Why break it for them?”

 

“Listen here, warlock,” the Wayland boy starts.

 

Ragnor snaps his fingers with a small twist of his wrist. Jace opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes from him, to the rest of the world, though Ragnor can still hear every privileged little word. Ragnor’s smirk drifts back into place watching the Shadowhunter’s frustration. He pulls the boy forward, gently as to not warrant him an audience with the Clave (you never know how petty they’re feeling with such fragile egos) and sets him down in a chair. With another snap, he can’t move. Jace’s anger is clearly building under his forced silence, but Ragnor give him no mind. Magnus sighs and leans against the wall as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

 

“Now, old friend, what exactly did you need so desperately that you brought _nephilim_ to my home?”

 

Magnus pushes himself back off the wall and walks over to his desk, casually lifting a few papers here and there. Ragnor watches him with a heavy heart in his chest. The weight of this all keeps Ragnor’s mouth closed. He can only imagine how hurt Magnus is going to be because of him and his scheme. He lifts the tea cup back to his lips, finishing off the rest of the potion. There’s no second guessing now.

 

“Don’t act like you don’t know already. Even if you didn’t reply, you’re too nosy to not have read my messages. How did you put Jocelyn under?” Magnus asks without turning to face him. He’s picking up a book that had been nesling between the rolltop of the desk and accent lamp. Magnus purses his lips at it and sets it back down with little care, probably just to annoy his friend.

 

“Shouldn’t we wait for your companion to get here before I reveal all?”

 

Magnus looks over his shoulder at him. He rolls his eyes with a warm smile.

 

“I thought you’d want us out of your hair as fast as possible, guess I was--”

 

Ragnor snaps his fingers in quick succession, cutting Magnus off. Something just tripped his final set of wards just outside the garden wall. Magnus glares at him, as silent as Jace and just as immovable. Ragnor shrugs in semiology and positions him in the other chair. Just before the front door creaks open, Ragnor slips into the painting facing it. The sensation is familiar, but no less comfortable than the first time he’d gone about it. His skin goes from pilable to crinkly making the transition to two-dimensional.

 

A young woman with bright, striking red hair walks in through the front door with cautious determination. Ragnor instantly sees her mother in her--the strength and unyielding stubbornness. Everything he’s heard so far about Clarissa clicks into place seeing her seek out Jace and Magnus.

 

“Ragnor? Ragnor?” she calls out. She reaches behind herself to pull out a glowing serif blade.

 

He hopes she’ll get this done in a hurry. Thinking about it, if he’s misjudged how observant she is then he may “die” while still in the painting, leaving Magnus and the Wayland boy stuck to their chairs--effectively giving away his performance. Though he could help her along…

 

“Hello? Is anybody home? I need your help. Ragnor, I know you’re here...I just need to find my friends”

 

Ragnor lets his eyes flick over to her hoping she’ll notice the movement. As she passes him, he clicks together the crystals on the lamp in front of his painting with a push of magic. She doesn’t disappoint.

 

“Nice try, Ragnor,” she says with a smirk before reaching in to grab him.

 

He lets her toss him to the floor, determined to keep up appearances to not draw suspicion to his soon-to-be “death.” He plays up his looks as an older man with a few grunts and pulls himself back up on his feet. After dusting himself off, he extends his hand to her.

 

“Well done, Clary Fairchild. I’ve been expecting you. You have Jocelyn’s talent, I see. Only a true artist would notice the subtle changes in my eyes.”

 

“You need to work on that, Ragnor. I mean really?” Magnus taunts him.

 

“Yes, I know I need to work on not moving my eyes. You don’t need to remind me!” Ragnor snips back.

 

“You knew my mom?” Clary asks, gaining back his attention.

 

He nods. “So, you made the potion that put her to sleep?”

 

“As per her request, yes, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you came looking to me for the antidote. Please, sit.”

 

“My friends, Jace Wayland and Magnus Bane, they were with me, but I lost them in the fire.”

 

“Untie us! I won’t have you playing games with her head,” Jace threatens him.

 

“Let me do this my way!” he yells back at Magnus and turns back to Clary, letting the annoyance fall completely from his voice before speaking again.

 

“You friends, are they true?”

 

“Magnus said he’s known you for centuries. He sent you a fire message.”

 

Jace and Magnus are both yelling for his attention, telling him how ridiculous and unnecessary this charade is. Clary doesn’t appreciate his attention being drawn elsewhere when they were just getting down to brass tax. Then, she says just what he’s been waiting to hear…

 

“I’ll give you anything,” Clary says.

 

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Ragnor says with a growing grin.

 

He crosses his arms and snaps. Jace and Magnus both appear, to Clary, and their bonds fall away--both on their hands and their voices. They quickly stand up, getting away from the seats that bound them.

 

“Honestly, Ragnor, was that nonsense necessary?” Magnus asks, rubbing at his wrists as if his restraints could have possibly hurt him. Ragnor wants to roll his eyes at who’s the one being dramatic now.

 

“Of course. She offered me anything where you only offered me a timeshare of your flat in Paris. Yawn.”

 

“Alright, enough with the warlock games. Can you really wake my mother?” Clary asks.

 

Her fiery nature is shining through enough for Ragnor to see a glimpse of her father inside her. Not in the horrible sense, but more of his fortitude. Ragnor hopes she’s led on a straight path--that Jocelyn would have sought out one for her to ensure she’d never become another Morgenstern. With her concern only being centered around those she cares about, and the results of her walking through the green flames of his wards, he has hope for her. If he were a younger man, he might even place that hope on the Shadow World, as well.

 

“Not without the Book of the White,” Ragnor finally admits.

 

“What is the Book of the White?” Jace asks, already looking exasperated beyond tolerance although they were just getting started.

 

“An ancient book of warlock magic containing spells more powerful than, heh, most warlocks could ever imagine,” Magnus says, clapping a hand on Ragnor’s shoulder.

 

Even after all these years, Magnus has never known modesty when it came to his power, especially when he had the opportunity to rub it in Ragnor’s face. The man is lucky Ragnor holds him so dear to his heart or he may have some choice words, even in the presence of shadowhunters.

 

“I possessed the book when your mother came to me and I used it’s contents to create the potion. Regrettably, I no longer have the book. I asked Jocelyn to hide it so that Valentine may never find it.”

 

“But Ragnor please, I have to get my mom back. Is there any way to get the Book of the White?”

 

“Possibly. I may have something that can help us. Won’t be but a moment!”

 

Ragnor jogs up the stairs with as much poise as his nerves will allow. The bookmark he knows Magnus is seeking, although the man doesn’t know it himself, is in the back study tucked into the third chapter of Magnus’ first published work on portals. He rounds the corner and sneaks a look at his pocket watch. Two minutes left. He wonders whether he should collapse up here knowing Magnus will come to see what’s taking him so long, or if he should make a scene.

 

Before he can decide how dramatic Ragnor wants his death to be, a hiss comes from behind him. He turns, already knowing what that disgusting sound belongs to. The demon jumps at him. The effects of the potion are taking hold of him, causing his sluggish reaction. He manages to grab at it before it can kill him and fumbles backward to the top of the stairs.

 

“Ragnor!” Magnus yells, conjuring up a spell.

 

“C-creature took me by, by surprise,” Ragnor manages to get out, fighting the poison he can feel creeping into him through his neck.

 

He listens to Magnus’ words, feels his familiar magic against his skin, but the potion begins to take effect. Ragnor wants to say something--explain how he didn’t mean for things to go this way, but his body won’t listen to his demands.

 

Everything aside from Magnus speeds past him, leaving Ragnor’s vision spinning. His head feels as if it’s floating higher than his prone body. He tries to make a mental note of this sensation, but can't remember why it would matter. Magnus' lips are moving. There are tears in his eyes, but Ragnor can't focus long enough on his face to understand what's going on. Soon even Magnus' face and the feeling of his hands on his face, grounding him fall away.

 

"My dear cabbage..." Magnus whispers, hands ghosting over Ragnor's still face.

 

"Magnus, I am so sorry. I--"

 

Magnus cuts off her words by snapping his fingers and summoning a portal behind him. Jace, thankfully, understands and pushes Clary towards it. She looks at him with anger.

 

"We can't just leave him," she begs.

 

"Leave me. I'll," he pauses to clear his throat as he shuts Ragnor's eyes. "I'll let you know what I find here. Now leave me to take care of my friend."

 

The portal snaps shut behind he and Ragnor leaving an eerie silence to settle over the cottage. Magnus falls back onto the floor. A sob wracks through his chest with much more force than he expected. He lets that singular sound and emotion out, but shuts the faucet of emotions as soon as it passes. This isn't the time to mourn. Someone is responsible for this, and Magnus is determined to find them.

 

He digs around in his pocket for his cell phone and quickly clicks on his favorite contacts. Catarina's picture pops up as the phone dials out.

 

"Yes, Magnus?" she answers the phone in a tired voice. From the sounds of distant beeping and low voices talking in the background, he's guessing she's at work.

 

"Ragn--he's..." he stops himself to take in a breath to steady his voice. "I need your help."

 

"Where are you?" she asks. All casualness fled her voice to be replaced with the precise tone he's known her to have while healing a dire wound or fighting beside him. He would take solace in knowing how well she understands him, and in turn, how he knows her, but he can't break his thoughts away from having lost that with his oldest friend--how Ragnor won't ever be here again.

 

"Magnus? Can you focus on what's around you? What can you hear besides me?"

 

He recognizes her words and what she's getting at. Magnus doesn't feel like he's having a panic attack, though her instructions help him focus back on reality. He allows her to guide him back to her and breathes in deeply once his chest remembers how to work again.

 

"Ragnor's cottage."

 

He doesn't bother waiting for her reply. Before he can end the call, a portal opens down the hall. Her footsteps echo in his mind. The sound feels like the dark future of life without his closest friend is rushing in to take him far before he's ready to process it. Magnus shakes his head to himself and climbs himself over the wallowing pit within his chest. He is the High Warlock of Brooklyn in the start of a war. He has no time to mourn. That's for when he's safe.

 

Catarina comes into the main parlor with a determined frown. She nods to him when he finally looks up.

 

"I'll take care of him. Anything else you need beside that?"

 

"I--I'll collect some things from here to look over. He was going to get something before the demon attacked relating to the Book of the White. I still need it to wake Jocelyn Fairchild," Magnus explains clinically.

 

"You think that wise? The only people who knew you were coming here were Shadowhunters. You know what that means," Cat says as she hovers a hand over Ragnor's heart. Yellow swafts of magic billow out around him, taking stock of his prone form.

 

Magnus doesn't bother voicing how unnecessary her actions are. Ragnor is lost to them now, but if he were in her shoes, he knows he'd do the same.

 

"I'll tread carefully. "

 

Seeing her work over Ragnor pulls him back to that pit in his chest. Magnus won’t let any hope for Ragnor take hold there. He can't bare to watch.

 

"If you need my assistance, I'll be upstairs," he mutters, leaving her alone with their late friend and him alone with the building wave of hurt about to radiate throughout his body.

 

Over the years since leaving Alicante and teaching, Ragnor's trinkets and (in Magnus' opinion useless) things have increased in number. In the spare study, because Ragnor sees himself without need of a spare bedroom being such a recluse, Magnus prepares to send a magic-seeking pulse out to draw him towards anything that may be related to this nephilim mess.

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

_The pier is clear of the usually bustling of tourists it sees in the day and early night. The halfmoon is hanging high above it, reflected choppily in the waves of the cold, murky water below. Coming out here after midnight had originally been Magnus’ suggestion, but seeing how still the world was and the serene look on Raphael’s face looking at the water, Ragnor’s more than willing to claim it as his own. His friend wouldn’t mind. In fact, Magnus would insist upon it, though he’ll still take completely, prideful responsibility for bringing the two of them together in the first place._

 

_Raphael’s pale skin illuminated in the moonlight looks radiant, glowing in a way sunlight could never compare. Ragnor knows even after these few decades of being on of the Night Children, Raphael still struggles knowing he won’t enjoy the warmth of the sun again, but Ragnor now doesn’t see the underlying despair of immortality in the man beside him. No, he sees a man embracing his new life, still cautious, but finally willing._

 

_“The night truly does suit you, Raphael,” he whispers above the crashing of the waves beneath them. A tiny twitch at the corner of Raphael’s mouth nearly turns into a smile at his words._

 

_He leans against the railing and turns back to face Ragnor. All signs of that near-smile gone. His face is stern now._

 

_“Tonight has...been great, but Ragnor, I’m not what you want,” Raphael says plainly._

 

_Ragnor pulls his eyebrows together and joins Raphael, but faces the water instead of back down the length of the pier. He waits for the vampire to explain instead of jumping to conclusions. Even if he wanted to speak, the threat of imposing rejection tightens his throat beyond the possibility of doing so with an unwavering voice._

 

_“My whole life I’ve never had any interest in the, well, physical aspects of a relationship. I still don’t know why that part of me is missing, but I’ve come to accept my shortcomings. You deserve someone that can fully be with you, and I’m not that person,” Raphael says in a detached voice._

 

_Ragnor can’t help the relief that floods him, and the laugh that follows. He turns to Raphael and places a gentle hand on his. Raphael looks on the verge of confusion and anger at his response. Quickly, he thinks of how to voice what’s going through his head._

 

_“Raphael, you aren’t missing a part of yourself. Having no desire for physical intimacy isn’t a shortcoming, by any means. That’s a part of you and you aren’t the only person that feels that way. Over the centuries, I’ve met many people--immortal or otherwise--that feel the same...that feel the way we do. You aren’t alone in this part of yourself, and I hope now I’m not either,” Ragnor says, holding Raphael’s gaze._

 

_Deep red tears build up along his bottom lashes as Ragnor’s words sink in. Before they spill over, Ragnor produces a handkerchief from his pocket and with soft ministrations, wipe away his tears._

 

_“I’m yours, if you’ll have me,” Ragnor whispers._

 

_Raphael’s bright smile, fangs out from this overwhelming sensation, is more of an answer than his words could have ever been. Ragnor leans forward, pressing his brow to Raphael’s with a smile just as wide._

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

The world comes back to Ragnor in waves. As he ebbs in a sort of dream, the world flows towards him, but when he reaches out to grasp at it, it rolls away leaving him in a warm, yet uncomfortable darkness. Familiar twinges of yellow come into his mindseye like food coloring dripping down the edge of a glass that splashes out into the water below in colorful, vibrant bursts. The color feels safe and insistent. Ragnor wants to fall back into the warmth of his unconscious mind, but a niggling in the back of it makes him reach out to take hold of the color.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut before peering out to take in his surroundings. Everything is too bright. He recalls his home and Magnus, wondering where he could possibly be within his house. Then, the fall comes back to him--the tea, the demon. He grunts and pulls himself up to look around.

 

The familiar space puts him at ease, slightly. Raphael and he have never really agreed on style, but knowing the space belongs to his love brings a comfort along with it despite the clean lines and ornate bedding clearly inspired by Magnus.

 

"I hope you feel like a truck hit you."

 

"So glad to have your concern," Ragnor jokes. He turns to his left to find Catarina in an armchair. While her features are collected, her tone gives away her feelings. Something must have gone awry.

 

"I did warn you..."

 

"That may be true, but adding a demon into the mix? I thought you knew how to take better care of yourself than pull something like that," she bites back.

 

Cat wavers before getting up to walk to the bed. Her stride is nothing like her self-assured step he's used to seeing. He hasn't seen her this drained in years. Guilt rises up within him, but before he can apologize, she holds a hand up to him.

 

"Don't even try, you buffoon. We all do what we must in times like these. I don't need your words, just your money," Catarina says sternly with a wry look in her eyes.

 

He leans back down and lets her check him over. He'd complain that he's fine to care for himself now, but she might slap him over it. He wonders where Raphael is and whether anyone else has been told that he's here. She must have told him he's here...

 

"I told your boy, discreetly. He has business to handle, but knows you'll be fine without hovering. You know how I feel about hovering."

 

Ragnor smiles at her and takes her hand to give it a meaningful squeeze.

 

"Thank you, Catarina."

 

She rolls her eyes and takes her hand back. "Yeah, yeah. You'd better be. I'm off. Don't push it. Go easy on magic for now, and for the love of all things good in this world if you tell anyone you're here or try to leave, I'll end you myself. This is for your safety. Don't jeopardize it for anything--I don't care if it's big or trivial. Someone sent that demon to kill you. As far as they're concerned, they succeeded. Don't prove them wrong!"

 

He nods. His plans to fake his death worked, but nearly cost him his life due to underestimating those after him, probably one of Morgenstern’s Circle members. Magnus must have his hands full with that information leak, he thinks to himself.

 

Catarina checks his forehead again for a fever, leans in to place a quick kiss there between his horns, and turns to leave without another word leaving Ragnor to his own devices. Once she’s left, he lets it sink in that he truly did almost die.

 

He would have left Magnus and Raphael alone. Neither of them would have sought the other out for support or to mourn with company. Each would have suffered in silence, no doubtedly avoiding their grief until it over took them. Such things cannot be afford in the Shadow World. After all this has settled and Ragnor can get back to the land of the living, he decides he needs to sit the two of them down and make real plans in the case that something really does happen to him.

 

Being immortal often trails his thoughts out into the unknowing future, not what could happen if his life did end. Maybe he should convince all of his immortal friends to write wills of some sort...he can only imagine how terribly they would all take the implication.

 

The night drifts by slowly. Ragnor stays in bed, still feeling faint from the poison that had tried to ravage his body. He hates having to stay so still. At least his magic was regaining itself enough that he could summon some of his books he’s gifted to Raphael off of the bookshelf on the other end of the bedroom. When would there be a better time to read up on vampire culture throughout the ages than bedridden and under house arrest in the DuMort?  


Raphael shuts the door to his room quietly and huffs out a long breath. Cleaning up Camille's messes isn't anything new to him, but he hopes with her out of the way, they'll slowly come to an end. That end still seems far off, though.

 

"Who is it this time?"

 

He turns with a twitch of his lips, trying not to smile, at the sound of Ragnor's voice behind him. Sitting against his headboard in Raphael's satin pajamas with one of his books, Ragnor raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for him to spill about how his day has been. He watches Raphael’s eye flit down to the bandages on his neck.

 

"Just...Camille, the Clave."

 

"Ah, what else," Ragnor says with an understanding nod, opening his arms for Raphael to come sit with him.

 

He obliges his boyfriend's will without question. Raphael tugs off his shoes with care and crawls across the bed until his head is resting in Ragnor's lap. A hand finds its way to rubbing the back of Raphael’s neck as if by its own accord while Ragnor sets the book on vampire dens in the sixth century aside, giving him his full attention.

 

They haven't had such a quiet moment just to themselves since before the whispers of Valentine's return started circulating a few months ago, though it feels far longer. It surprises Raphael, with all his years, to miss a man when he doesn't see him each day. He never thought immortality could provide the kind of love he'd hoped for during his mortal years--the love his parents had for each other.

 

"Camille's fledgeling never shuts his mouth, no matter the circumstances," Raphael begins.

 

"Don't you mean your fledgeling? You are head of the clan now, regardless of lineage or siring."

 

Ragnor can't see his eye roll, but laughs imagining his reaction to his words. He coaxes him on, rubbing at his shoulders with both hands. A trickle of magic flicks across them helping him let go of his predatory nature and truly relax, for once.

 

"The baby is causing more problems than he's worth--which I still consider an extension of Camille's mess since she's the one that killed the boy. His Shadowhunter friend is a spitfire and incredibly selfish. She doesn't understand the rules of this world, yet Simon follows her will like law," Raphael mumbles into Ragnor's thigh without any bite behind his words.

 

"Sounds like Clary is the Shadowhunter's problem, for now. Have you considered explaining this to Simon? Have you tried to teach him--and I mean properly teach him--the rules of our world, the rules of the Night Children?"

 

As always, Ragnor hits the nail on the head. Raphael groans, but doesn't tell him he's wrong. He knows Ragnor has a point.

 

"Why can't that be someone else's responsibility? I'm running this clan! My time is needed elsewhere. I can't be potty training a fledgeling while simultaneously cleaning up the name of this clan and earning respect for us on fair, legal ground instead of Camille's perverted take on leadership."

 

"As leader, you can delegate, unless you don't trust the baby's training to anyone aside from yourself..."

 

“Who else is there? Everyone I trust is busy with cleaning up Camille’s messes and the Clave breathing down our necks about her actions. Who else do I trust to do the job? Lily is handling more than I want her to, though you know she’ll never back down from taking things on if she feels she should. And before you say Magnus, he has enough on his plate with those shadowhunters, especially that Lightwood,” Raphael says.

 

Ragnor’s hand pauses from rubbing Raphael’s shoulders. “One, you’re forgetting a _very important person_ currently here at the hotel. And two, what Lightwood?”

 

Raphael sits up looking like he’s ready to eat the canary. “Alec Lightwood. He’s been running the New York Institute while his parents are away, and has been spending a lot of time with our dear friend. Even came to his rescue against a Circle member and helped ground him when he was pushing his magic too far to heal Garroway when he became Alpha of the New York pack. You’ve missed a lot, being in hiding.”

 

“You’re telling me Magnus has a new _interest_ in his life and he neglected to tell me?!” Ragnor asks in shock. He knows he and Magnus haven’t spoken much recently, but this is over the line.

 

“Not only that, but this shadowhunter recently announced his politically charged proposal to the acting Head of Institute, a woman by the name of Branwell.”

 

Ragnor leans his head back against the headboard and groans. It’s like the nineteenth century just rose up from the grave to kick him. “The worst part of being immortal, by far, has to be dealing with descendants,” he grumbles.

 

“Aside from Magnus’ drama, I hear what you’re saying about the baby. You have to knowhow, and I don’t doubt that, but do you really want to get involved in training a vampire fledgeling? I’ve told you about what an annoyance he can be,” Raphael says, tone serious, but open like his only concern is for Ragnor’s comfort instead of his responsibilities as a leader.

 

“I’m not saying I’ll be his wet nurse, but I can at least explain to him what an idiot he’s being.”

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

_Raphael looks down at his phone and smiles. He flips it open and answers._

 

 _“_ _Digame_ _,” he greets Ragnor._

 

_Since Magnus forced them both to get phone’s they’ve been talking more often. They haven’t stopped writing their letters they started when Ragnor become a professor in Alicante. Both of them are too adverse to changing times to let those die out, but slowly, they’ve embraced impromptu phone calls and even text messages. The age of technology is slowly winning them over, with Magnus’ help._

 

_“There’s a term for us that’s actually catching on. Though you’d be interested to hear about it.”_

 

_“I’m guessing you mean something other than queer?” Raphael jokes back. He knows what Ragnor’s talking about, but things would be amiss if he didn’t prod him a little first._

 

_“Asexual--meaning having no desire for sex, or something to that sort. These terms seem to shift in meaning depending on who says them,” Ragnor says with excitement evident in his tone. Raphael can imagine the smile he must be sporting._

 

_“Asexual…” he tries the word out on his tongue._

 

_Since learning this part of him isn’t unnatural or broken, he’s heard people talk about it, but never in a positive light--aside from his close friends. Magnus was always the first to get in a bigot’s face and prove them wrong with quick, biting words. Being bisexual hasn’t been an easy journey for him. It was one of the reasons Raphael kept his lacking sexual nature to himself, Ragnor, and Magnus. Why bring unwanted hurt into his life? He’s a private person for a reason._

 

_Asexual, though...asexual. He let the word sink into his mind. Having a word, even a new one (to him, at least) made this all feel real. This isn’t just about him and Ragnor. There are others--enough of them to warrant a term for them. Raphael didn’t know what to do with the emotions swirling around inside him._

 

_“Rafa, a word is just the start. A decade from now, maybe two...who knows, it could be recognized by the majority of people. We’ve seen it happen with bisexuality. Maybe...maybe we won’t always be the outcasts,” Ragnor whispers on the other end of the line._

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

“Raphael? I know you totally don’t want to see me right now, but as your ‘advisor’ or whatever I doubt you want me going to this thing in my own clothes. You’ve made your point enough times about how you feel about band tees and my favorite Brooklyn shirt,” a young-looking vampire says, opening the door to Raphael’s room without knocking.

 

Ragnor sets his book down open on his knee. His glare stops the guy in his place like a kid caught sneaking out of bed.

 

“You’re not Raphael…” The vampire glances back to the door with regret written over his frown. His shoulders are pulled inward. Ragnor takes in his posture and wonders what’s happened to make him so uncomfortable in his own clan’s lair.

 

“And nor are you, yet you enter his room unannounced as if you were. I wonder what he would think of that.”

 

“I-I didn’t mean anything by...I just didn’t think. You aren’t going to tell him, are you? I totally didn’t mean anything by it!”

 

Ragnor raises an eyebrow. He notes the page he’s on and moves the book to the side table.

 

“Raphael mentioned a fledgling. You’re Simon, correct?”

 

Simon nods, looking like he wants to inch out of the door and reverse time. “Yeah. That’s me! Good old Simon Lewis, nerd extraordinaire and master of getting myself into bad situations.”

 

All the complaints Raphael has vented to Ragnor about this fledgeling flood to the forefront of his mind. The boy seems insecure, at best. Not just about himself, but about being in the space. Sure, you shouldn’t be in Raphael’s room, but Ragnor has a feeling it’s a little more than that. Raphael wasn’t raised by a clan. He had Magnus to teach him the ways of the Shadow World and vampiric politics. Maybe he’s forgetting just how much there is to teach...

 

"Are Shadowhunters required to be moody assholes? Or maybe it's just the guys, 'cause Jace and Alec are two pieces of work," Simon blathers on as he fiddles with a statue resting on the bookshelf.

 

"In my experience, privilege breeds arrogance, which can grate people in many, many ways," Ragnor says thinking back to all the nephilim men he's met over the years that held their heads so high it was as if they thought they were angels themselves, not just soldiers with their own agenda.

 

He pushes the rack of clothes he compiled of Raphael's out into the bedroom.

 

Simon takes in the suits with wide eyes. His apprehension is coming off of him in waves.

 

"You want me to try all of this on?"

 

Ragnor gives him a deadpan glare and ushers Simon out of the room. He leads them to the clan's meeting space--a place far more suited to dressing an advisor than the clan leader's own bedroom, in his opinion. Raphael likes to keep his room a personal space, where he can walk in without concern for what might be waiting for him. Ragnor makes a note to himself to explain boundaries in the DuMort to Simon since it's clear no one else has done so thus far. He's really starting to question exactly when they last added someone, let alone a fledgling, to their clan with how many details have been left by the wayside.

 

The top floor’s meeting space is still dripping with Camille gaudy taste. The gold couches and stone walls feel cold and ostentatious. It’s nothing like Raphael’s style. He knows Raphael is more focused on the interworks of the clan and creating stability amidst the change of leadership, but Ragnor wants to remind his boyfriend the importance of setting. Keeping Camille’s things lying around and her awful sense of wealth all around them won’t help anyone in the clan move past her regime. When things settle, Raphael needs to refurbish all the common spaces or he’ll never feel like the shoes as head of the clan are his own instead of hers.

 

"Yes, you're going to be trying all of this on," Ragnor says with a wry smile and the snap of his fingers.

 

The clothing rack from the bedroom pops into the corner of the room along with a freestanding mirror and a tea set complete with full, hot kettle on the coffee table. Simon jumps at the sound and lets out a small yelp before an uncomfortable laugh. He points at the rack, looks back to Ragnor, and nods.

 

"You're a warlock?" Simon asks. His shrug and semi-relaxed features make Ragnor think he's trying to seem at ease while all else about him screams to the contrary.

 

“I’m just curious, how do you expect to live out your eternity when you can’t even identify downworlders? I have horns. Did you honestly think I’m a vampire?” Ragnor asks, gesturing to his forehead in sheer bewilderment.

 

“It’s not like there’s a copy of _The Shadow World for Dummies_ that comes with all this!”

 

Ragnor presses his thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to breathe through the idiocy he’s just witnessed. _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth_. In the back of his mind, Ragnor can hear Simon continuing on in his defense, but he has no intention of retaining what he’s saying. Instead of responding, he walks over to the couch, settles down, and pours himself a cup of tea. This endeavor is going to prove much more trying than he’d anticipated.

 

By the third suit, Raphael finally finds them. He’s not pleased with Simon going through his things, but quickly deflates when he realizes why. His concerns then shift to why Ragnor is out of bed when he’s still recovering. He walks over to the couch and places a quick kiss between his horns.

 

“ _Mi amor, te acuestas_ ,” Raphael says with a sigh.

 

“I’ve been resting for hours, Rafa. I’m not hurting myself on this couch, though I must admit it’s lacking in the comfort department. We do need to discuss some interior design choices once things have settled. This _style_ , as very few would call it, leaves much to be desired.”

 

“Would you prefer I call up Catarina and have her bring you to my place? Or I guess I could just bring you there myself...”

 

Ragnor sighs and sets down his cup of tea. He knows when he’s beaten. It’s not that he doesn’t like Raphael’s apartment, but he spends so little time there with his new duties that Ragnor would just be alone. At least here at the hotel, Ragnor has a higher chance of seeing him throughout the night.

 

He gets up from the couch, with Raphael extending an unnecessary hand to help him, and walks out of the room leaving Simon to him.

 

“So, you have a boyfriend?” Simon asks, trying to stay on the side of polite. Raphael’s glare at him tells him he failed miserably.

 

“At least tell me he chose decent pieces for you to try on,” Raphael says instead of answering the question. “I can’t have you representing the clan and looking like an indie band washout.”

 

Simon gawks at his implication. Even though the warlock wasn’t the friendliest guy, at least he feigned politeness for the most part. Putting some thought to it, the two of them did make a cute couple in a grouchy sort of way.

 

Raphael walks past him to examine the rack of clothes. He pulls a hanger off only to put it back a moment later and pull off another one. Simon watches his mind work through the outfits before him. Raphael pulls the suit jacket off one hanger and tosses it to Simon.

 

“See how that fits.”

 

They work through more combinations than the warlock had even mentioned there were. They are settling on the final look when someone entering the room catches their attention: Lily, accompanying Isabelle Lightwood.

 

Of all things the shadowhunter could have come to talk about, it’s bachelor parties. Raphael shakes his head to himself and leaves the room to attend to anything more worth his time than this with Lily at his side. Simon is dressed well enough to not look like a fool on sight, so he considers the task finished.

 

“You look stressed,” she says when their out of Simon’s earshot.

 

He tries to level her with a glare, but such things have never worked for him with her. “Anything new to report?”

 

“Other than our non-existence guest in your room, you mean?”

 

He waits for her to continue instead of saying anything about Ragnor. Being his right hand, she knows about the situation and to keep it quiet. The only possible leaks now are Ragnor because the man never knows when to quit, and Simon.

 

“Simon’s off to the wedding, and before you ask, I didn’t hear a certain someone mention his name, so get that out of your head. He’s not an idiot. Also, Robert’s insisting we hold a clan meeting about how to redecorate the common spaces,” Lily says as they walk downstairs.

 

“Why is everyone so insistent on that today? It can wait.”

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

Playing dead is a lot more boring than Ragnor had been expecting. He's always enjoyed his solitude and reading, but when he knows he can't go anywhere all he wants to do is leave. Raphael and Cat would both have his head if he left, though. The plan has gone well thus far and making his return from the dead too early or by accident would most likely result in his death. What's a man to do?

 

He considers writing Magnus a fire message complaining about it all. He rubs together his fingers, calling up the magic within him when an idea comes to mind. Now, it's been a few decades since he's tried projecting himself, but what would be a better time than now to try? Visiting Catarina's apartment would only result in lecturing and his cottage was off limits. Magnus, on the other hand, would completely understand being stir crazy. Besides, from what Simon was saying, his dear friend could use some of his sagely advice.

 

Ragnor leans back in his chair. Step-by-step, he tenses and relaxes his body. It takes a few minutes, but when he gets to rolling his shoulders back his magic slips in between his consciousness and his mind, creating a tether. He beckons with his hand. The blue mist of his magic envelops him.

 

When the mist disappears, he's standing behind an armchair in Magnus' apartment. Littering the room are things from his house: his books, artifacts, even the bottle of scotch he'd been saving since his 500th birthday. He feels a surge of annoyance, but knows appearances are what make his 'death' convincing.

 

"Oh how I've always hated that photo," Ragnor comments with a frown as he looks over Magnus' shoulder. "I've got to remember chin down, eyes up, or I look like a toad."

 

"You're here?" Magnus barely manages to whisper. His eyes follow Ragnor across the room where he plops down into the armchair and swings his legs him.

 

“You didn't think you'd be rid of me that easily, did you? Oh, my dear friend, I will always be here for you.”

 

Magnus takes a swig from his glass and looks back down at the photograph of he, Ragnor, and Camille. What a night that was...

 

"Camille said true love wasn't for immortals. Seeking it out was...foolish, childish. She feels we are above it."

 

Ragnor’s heart has broken for Magnus countless times because of Camille. Even with her locked away under Raphael’s watchful eye, her claws were still holding Magnus captive--after all these years, over all these years.

 

"You're immortal, but she killed you."

 

Magnus shrinks down in his chair and brushes a hand over the photograph. They’ve seen each other through some of the most melancholy of times. Seeing Magnus surrounded by Ragnor’s things--their history together as close friends--stabs deep in his chest. He loves his friend so dearly, but also wishes he could slap him for wallowing in memories of Camille yet again, knowing no good will come out of it.

 

"Not everyone is out to hurt you, my dear friend," Ragnor says with a soft smile. "When the time comes, and it will, please open your heart."

 

Magnus' mind runs on autopilot to thoughts of Alec and his wedding. "I think it may be too late for that," he admits, dejected.

 

Ragnor gets up and walks over to his chair with patient, purposeful steps. He kneels in front of Magnus to catch his downcast eyes before speaking. "I think we both know that's not true."

 

When Magnus closes his eyes and smiles, Ragnor knows he'll take his advice. Before he can look at him again, Ragnor pulls his magic in and disappears in a wisp of blue. He's back in his body sitting in Raphael's room. To anyone that may have come in, it would have seemed like he had fallen asleep while reading.

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

“Simon! You made it, and looking great doing it. Wow,” Clary says when she comes to get him from the front steps of the Institute since Raj wouldn’t let him pass through the doors without a proper reasons. Apparently, he didn’t see a wedding invitation as _proper enough_. She looks him over and tugs on the lapels of Raphael’s jacket.

 

“Who dressed you? Not that I don’t appreciate your carefully crafted nerd-who-gives-just-enough-of-a-fuck look…” Clary asks with a sing-song voice.

 

She’s been using that description for his closet since they were fourteen when his mom bought him a graphic tee with a monkey on it. He wore it around the house or to bed, but never to school or when he was out with Clary. Of course, Clary noticed and asked why.

 

“I’m borrowing it from Raphael. You like?” he asks with a wiggle of his eyebrows, trying to keep the tone silly instead of desperate. When Clary asked him to be her date to Alec’s wedding, he knew it was as a friend, but something within him still let him keep hope that she might want something more...someday.

 

“Yeah, you look great!”

 

“So do you. I mean like _wow_! Did Isabelle help?”

 

“Yeah, she did. Izzy’s been so great. She’s really excited that you’re here, you know. Says at least she knows she won’t have to go rescue you in the middle of the ceremony,” Clary says with a laugh. Something seems off under her smile, but Simon can’t quite put a finger on what.

 

“Did Raphael really help you get dressed? I mean, the guy has style, but he does not seem like the kind of guy to do that.”

 

Simon nods his head and grimaces. “If Raphael had been helping, he probably would have cut my head off or something by the third suit. Actually, I was looking for him for clothing help, but found a warlock in his bed instead!” Simon tells her in an excited whisper.

 

“What?!” She pulls him off to the side of the room much like she did back at prom when they were gossiping about Maureen’s date having the worst tie they’d ever laid eyes on.

 

“Yeah! I figure Raphael was a reserved kinda guy. Though I can totally see how they work. His boyfriend is a little off putting. Behind his clear distaste about my clothes, he did actually try to talk to me though. Told me a lot about how vampires work and the clan and stuff--stuff that Raphael conveniently forgot to mention.”

 

Clary smiles, soft and genuine. “I’m glad, Si. That place is your home. I’m glad to know someone there has your back. Not going to lie, it makes me feel a little better about you having to be so close to Raphael knowing that his boyfriend’s taken to you. It’s only a matter of time before Raphael caves and sees how great you are.”

 

Simon rolls his eyes. Like Raphael would ever admit that, but he appreciates her words. Since all this has happened, she’s been going through so much he hasn’t really gotten much support from her. Now, he totally gets it. They are both going through some intense shit, but being reminded that she does care and worries about him fills his chest with a sense of warmth.

 

As they chat and gossip about this warlock at the DuMort, the hall steadily fills with people. Maryse and Robert Lightwood look as stern as ever. Simon thought the one time he’d see them smile would be their own son’s wedding--a political wedding at that--but he’s been wrong before.

 

“Can you believe Alec is going through with this?” Clary asks, her tone heavy, when she follows his line of sight over to Alec’s parents.

 

“Magnus must be drinking himself into a coma,” Simon says.

 

Clary takes in a deep breath and puffs it out in a long sigh. “I can’t imagine. His oldest friend died and now Alec is getting married to a woman…”

 

“And I thought I was having a rough time.”

 

Isabelle comes in the room wearing a dress that shifts like liquid gold, following her movements. Both Simon and Clary stop talking to watch her walk through the hall over to them. Her hair is expertly pinned in a wave reminiscent of old glamor. Both of them fumble over their words trying to properly compliment her on the dress.

 

“Thanks, you guys. What can I say, I’ve got good taste,” she says with a smile. “Things are going to get started in a minute or so. I saved you’re seats up by the front.”

 

“How’s Alec doing?” Clary asks.

 

Isabelle visibly sags at the reminder. “He’s...alright. We all know he’s being an idiot, but that’s my brother for you.”

 

“There’s still time for him to come to his senses, right?” Simon asks.

 

They all exchange a look of forced hopefulness. Before they can reassure her, she’s called away by her mother to get the ceremony started. Simon and Clary take their seats and wait for the music to begin.

 

»»————-　　————-««

 

Raphael goes back to his room once Simon has left through the tunnels for the Institute. The door opens of its own accord when he gets close to it. He sighs.

 

“Shouldn’t you be saving your strength right now?” Raphael asks on the verge of accusatory.

 

Inside, Ragnor is back in the bed with a book and a wine glass of blood beside him. Raphael sees it and realizes he went all day without feeding. He’s been so caught up in his work it slipped his mind.

 

“Says the one that forgot to eat today,” Ragnor retorts.

 

He holds the glass out to Raphael with a soft, open expression. The gesture itself shouldn’t feel like so much. It shouldn’t be filling Raphael with a sense of warmth, comfort, and _home_ , but seeing Ragnor still bandaged after a near-death experience thinking about Raphael’s needs and offering to take care of him hits him hard. He crosses the room faster than a mundane could have traced with their eyes and took the blood from Ragnor with a barely-there touch. Ragnor reaches out with his other hand to hold onto Raphael’s hip possessively as he takes his first sip from the glass.

 

“Thank you. Have you eaten?” Raphael asks, tracing Ragnor’s fingers with his own.

 

Ragnor shakes his head. Before he can offer his boyfriend to get him something, the warlock snaps his fingers and a bed tray appears next to him with takeout boxes on it.

 

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a meal together,” Ragnor comments as he turns to his own food.

 

Raphael nods and undresses himself, down to his boxers, and climbs into the bed without disturbing Ragnor’s food. He picks up his glass again and clinks it against the metal tray.

 

“Far too long. How’s your first day being dead?”

 

Ragnor laughs and pulls his food towards himself. The sounds fills the room. Even amidst a brewing war, death, and instability, his laugh brightens Raphael’s world. No matter what is going on outside, they have this. They’ve told each other that having an “us against the world” mentality wasn’t for them, and seemed a little toxic as well, but that didn’t stop that feeling from bleeding into their lives from time to time.

 

When hate speech was hurled at them when they held hands for the first time in public to the sex jokes they put up with at parties, they do have each other. They might not be against the world, no matter how jaded they may sound at times, the world has been against them since the beginning.

 

“Rather boring. You’d think the afterlife would provide some kind of entertainment,” Ragnor quips as he opens a container and picks up his fork.

 

Raphael shakes his head. “You’re something, Fell, you know that? For all intents and purposes, you’re dead and all you can think about it the boredom of it all.”

 

»»————-　　————-««

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading this! this story has been a long time coming for me (aka since ragnor 'died' on the show, okay). your thoughts are feedback are so greatly appreciated! writing for small characters/ships is hard sometimes because of how little recognition they get, but it's so worth it knowing that people do want to read these stories. i'd love to talk to you in the comments about how you feel about this and what's to come! 
> 
> if you want, come find me on [tumblr](http://bialiencowboy.tumblr.com)


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